


just to know your name

by bibliosexual



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crush at First Sight, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, M/M, Skype, the drabble that just kept growing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7208117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliosexual/pseuds/bibliosexual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're about fifteen minutes into the Skype call on Tuesday night when this <i>guy</i> wanders straight out of one of Derek’s wet dreams and into the frame, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs and a tight grey Guns N’ Roses tee. He’s lithely muscled, with a cute upturned nose and some of the most beautiful bone structure Derek has ever seen. Derek can see his nipples through his shirt. He feels all the blood in his body rushing to his dick.</p><p>“There should be a note about that on page nineteen,” Scott is saying, distantly, while Mystery Guy yawns adorably, nose scrunching, and runs a hand through his messy hair. He looks like he’s totally oblivious to Scott’s webcam, or to Scott. He looks like he just woke up. He looks like something out of an underwear ad, or softcore porn.</p><p>Mystery Guy bends down, thigh muscles flexing, and starts digging through Scott’s dresser drawers for a pair of sweatpants. Scott doesn’t ever turn around. He just keeps talking about… something. Something unimportant. </p><p>Mystery Guy has a mole high up on the back of his right thigh and Derek wants to lick it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as just "the webcam drabble" on my tumblr ([link!](http://bibliosexxual.tumblr.com/post/145877802806/sterek-webcam-drabble)) and probably would not have become an entire finished fic without all the awesome feedback I got, so thank you to all you lovelies who read it there. I feel like this fic works in at least a little of something from everyone who wrote to me with ideas.
> 
> Title from "Somebody Told Me" by The Killers because I had that stuck in my head today and I felt like just calling this fic "the webcam drabble" might be a little informal.

If Derek had to choose anyone for his Gender in the Ancient World partnered project, he’d choose Erica, because he’s only got one friend at college so far and she’s it, but their professor has other plans. Erica gets paired with some cherubic freshman named Isaac, and Derek gets… Scott McCall. Some guy he’s never even _noticed_ before because he always sits in the very back of the room.

Well. It could be worse. It could be Greenberg. Derek has definitely noticed _him_ , because he makes at least two obnoxious comments every class.

The good news is that the assignment is a fifteen-minute presentation on Spartan women, which should be pretty interesting. The bad news is that today is Monday, and their presentations are due Wednesday.

“Is that even _allowed_?” Erica mutters.

Derek just shrugs.

Scott’s apologetic when they meet up after class–-he has to work tonight, and tomorrow he’s got a full day of classes and lacrosse practice. He could probably do it tomorrow night, though? Except Derek’s car is in the shop, Scott doesn’t _have_ a car, and they live on opposite sides of campus, at least a twenty-five minute walk each way.

They agree to Skype.

They’re about fifteen minutes into the call on Tuesday night when this _guy_ wanders straight out of one of Derek’s wet dreams and into the frame, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs and a tight grey Guns N’ Roses tee. He’s lithely muscled, with a cute upturned nose and some of the most beautiful bone structure Derek has ever seen. Derek can see his nipples through his shirt. He feels all the blood in his body rushing to his dick.

“There should be a note about that on page nineteen,” Scott is saying, distantly, while Mystery Guy yawns adorably, nose scrunching, and runs a hand through his messy hair. He looks like he’s totally oblivious to Scott’s webcam, or to Scott. He looks like he just woke up. He looks like something out of an underwear ad, or softcore porn.

Mystery Guy bends down, thigh muscles flexing, and starts digging through Scott’s dresser drawers for a pair of sweatpants. Scott doesn’t ever turn around. He just keeps talking about… something. Something unimportant.

Mystery Guy has a mole high up on the back of his right thigh and Derek wants to lick it.

“Derek?” Scott asks, with the annoyed-slash-concerned tone of someone who’s been trying to get his attention for several tries now. Mystery Guy wanders out of the room with Derek’s eyes glued to his ass. “What do you think?”

What Derek thinks is that he needs to get himself an invitation to Scott’s apartment, pronto.


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as the Skype call finishes (unfortunately without any further sightings of Mystery Guy), Derek throws on his coat and jogs over to the library, crossing his fingers that he’s remembering right and Erica has a night shift there tonight.

Sure enough, she’s sitting behind the front desk with her stilettos kicked up, scrolling through her phone with her earbuds in. Derek’s not that surprised; she tends to get kind of lax about library protocol when it’s past midnight and her supervisor’s already gone home. It’s not like any of the sleep-deprived students holed up in the stacks care.

“You’ve got to help me,” Derek gasps, slumping over the desk.

Erica lazily pulls out one earbud.

“You know how I got partnered up with Scott for that presentation? Well, I need to get into his apartment.”

Erica abruptly sits up in her chair, looking intrigued. “As in, you want me to help you _break into_ his apartment, or…?”

“No.” Derek rolls his eyes. “I need to befriend him. I need him to want to have me over.  There’s a guy. In Scott’s apartment. I want to—do things. Sex things. Romance things. Everything. I need to meet him.”

Erica looks thoughtful. “Okay, so there’s a guy in this guy’s apartment. Is he related to Scott? Is he rooming with Scott? Is he _dating_ Scott?”

That’s… actually a really good question. Derek honestly hadn’t gotten that far. He’s just had this mantra running in his head of _I need to see that guy again_. It had kind of drowned out any of the practical considerations, like the fact that Mystery Guy might not be single. Actually, he probably isn’t, not when he looks like _that_.

“Uh,” he says. “They don’t look that alike, so… probably not related? I’m going to guess roommates. But maybe boyfriends. I don’t know.”

He’s not sure what he’ll do if it turns out Mystery Guy and Scott are dating. Probably lie awake all night scheming up a hundred different ways to break them up. Not that he’d actually act on any of them. He’s not that much of an asshole.

But he might just avoid Scott for the rest of forever in an attempt to not spontaneously combust in flames of jealousy.

“Okay,” Erica says. “So find out.”

Derek gives her a blank look.

Erica huffs. “ _Honestly_ , you act like we aren’t living in the 21st century. Just Facebook-stalk Scott. See if he’s in a relationship. See what he likes. Pick something and talk to him about it. Get him to invite you over to gush about it. Insta-friend.”

So Derek hauls his laptop over to the nearest study table and looks up Scott McCall on Facebook. It’s not something that ever would’ve occurred to Derek, who hates social media. Whenever he goes on Facebook, he always gets this nagging sense that other people are going to somehow sense that he’s been looking through their selfies from three years ago. He’d rather just read a book.

Most of Scott’s profile is set to private, but Derek can see a few of his likes: Skyrim, Coca-Cola, Cat Adoption Center of Beacon Hills, Kung Fu Panda 3, and Yo-Yo Ma.

Ugh.

Derek doesn’t know anything about video games, he hates soda, classical music puts him to sleep faster than Benadryl, and nothing makes him grit his teeth harder than talking animal movies.

So that just leaves… cats.

Derek likes cats. In theory.

*

“So that was weird,” Scott says when he gets home Wednesday evening. “Like, really weird.”

Stiles pauses his game and hangs his head over the back of the couch to look at him upside-down. “Do tell.”

Scott starts pacing. He’s got his ‘confused and conflicted’ face on, which is kind of adorable. “So this guy I just did a group project with followed me to Starbucks after class today and started asking me all these questions about cats. Like, cat body language, cat diseases, cat adoption… I’ve never even _mentioned_ cats to him before. Literally the only thing we’ve ever talked about is this school project.”

Stiles grins. Somehow Scott always does manage to attract the misfits and weirdos… including Stiles, now that he thinks about it. “Maybe you have, like, an aura. A cat-person aura. All the old cat ladies are going to start following you around next, just you wait.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I didn’t want to be mean or anything, so I sat down at a table with him and talked for a while, but he just kept staring at me, like, _really intensely_ , you know? And then out of nowhere he asked if I was busy tonight, and I was like, ‘Uh, no?’ and then he was like, ‘We should go to your apartment and watch Netflix. I can bring dinner.’”

Stiles laughs. “Okay, that’s a little creepy. Or maybe just socially inept, I can’t tell.”

“I think just socially inept,” Scott says. “I think he doesn’t have many friends.”

Stiles laughs harder, because: “friends.” “Dude, you do realize he was asking you out?”

Scott’s eyes widen comically and he points to himself like, _Me?_ He looks alarmed. “You mean, like, on a date? I thought he was just being nice!”

Stiles snorts. People are _always_ asking Scott out, and Scott _always_ thinks they’re just being nice. If only people would always ask Stiles out for a change.

“Guess you’ll have to straighten him out on that one, then,” Stiles says, lifting his head back to face the TV, and presses ‘Resume Play.’

Behind him, Scott is suspiciously silent. Stiles pauses his game again. “What? What is it?”

Scott bites his lip. “He’s coming over in twenty minutes.”

Stiles throws down his controller. “What? Why? Why would you say _yes_?”

“I was being _nice_! I didn’t know he was asking me out!”

Stiles sighs and looks down at himself. The same Guns N’ Roses tee as yesterday and a pair of plaid boxer shorts with a hot sauce stain on the hem. He looks around at the apartment. The kitchen table is covered in empty pizza boxes, there’s an abandoned game of Monopoly spread out on the floor in front of the TV, the coffee table is one big pile of textbooks-and-beer-bottles clutter, and the hallway is littered with about twenty pairs of Converse, most of them Stiles’. Ugh. Does this mean he has to clean up?

Scott’s mind seems to have gone down a different track entirely. “He thinks he’s coming over for a  _date_ , oh my god,” he’s muttering. “What am I going to do?”

Well. That’s the easy part. “Just say I’m your boyfriend,” Stiles shrugs, and heaves himself off the couch. He probably should at least put on some pants. And maybe a fresh shirt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who've been following this fic on tumblr, this chapter is where the new content begins. :)

Stiles just wants it on the record that if he had answered the door first, he totally would've jettisoned the "I'm Scott's boyfriend" ruse and taken care of the problem much more efficiently by climbing the dude right there in the hallway.

But as it is, the knock comes while he's busy shoving an armload of junk from the living room into his closet, and it's just not... quite... fitting...

He finally decides the closet door doesn't have to close anyway, who cares. When he emerges from his room, Scott is saying, "Derek, hey, uh, hi—"

Stiles has just enough time to think, _Please don't let weird cat guy Derek be Derek Hale_ , before Scott is opening the door wider and it is _definitely_ Derek Hale—with combed hair! and glasses! wearing a fucking _waistcoat_! with a _tie_!—and Stiles realizes just how much the universe hates his existence.

The thing is, he's had the monster of all crushes on Derek since pretty much the moment three weeks ago when he spotted him at the vegan cafe on the edge of campus, gasped in awe, and nearly died from frappuccino inhalation.

Derek wasn't even _doing_ anything, just sitting there eating a cinnamon roll and reading _Fahrenheit 451_ with his luscious eyebrows all scrunched together, and Stiles was gone. Dead. Ascended to a higher plane. It was Lydia all over again: a flood of heat that shivered all through his body, and then a brand new ten-year plan that flashed before his eyes, and then a crippling despair that left him ordering half a dozen comfort brownies to go, because no way was anyone that gorgeous _ever_ going to go out with him.

He tried to let it go. He really did. He went home, he ate all of his brownies in one go, and then he lectured himself as sternly as he could for an _hour_ on why this was a bad idea. Such a bad idea.

Then he marched straight back to the cafe and bribed the cashier to give him Derek's name.

By the end of the day, he had twenty-seven photos of Derek downloaded off of Facebook onto his phone and ten pages (front and back!) of ideas drawn up for an epic, elaborate, guaranteed-success seduction plan.

He definitely did not plan for it to go like this, with Scott pointing at him and yelling, "That's my boyfriend!" and Derek turning to give Stiles his most murderous stare.

Fuck, that's hot.

It crushes all of his hopes and dreams in one fell swoop, but it's hot.

Is Scott _blind?_   Stiles is literally _speechless_ that _Derek Hale_ talked to him and asked him out and probably gazed at him adoringly with his impossible blue-green-hazel eyes and Scott _still_ somehow managed to not fall instantly and devastatingly in love.

Scott's probably straight.

Although, how anyone can resist being even a little bit gay in the face of Derek Hale is truly mystifying. The guy's all studious and dorky and awkwardly shy _and_ , to top it all off, about ten thousand times more beautiful than Stiles is prepared to handle right now.

Derek steps a little further into the apartment, still staring at Stiles, and sets down a large paper bag of what looks like Chinese takeout on the table. Because he brought dinner. For his date with Scott. Right.

Slowly, his tone indecipherable, Derek says, "Just to clarify: you two... are dating."

Scott nods enthusiastically, while Stiles glares at the back of his head and thinks, _STOP STOP ABORT_ as hard as he can.

Unfortunately, his telepathic powers fail to manifest, and Scott turns and awkwardly, so awkwardly, takes Stiles' hand.

Stiles hasn't held Scott's hand since they were crossing the street in preschool. It's a bit of a weird moment.

Derek's frown deepens. "Oh. That's... great."

Stiles didn't know anyone sucked at lying more than Scott, but apparently so.

Meanwhile, Stiles is trying to figure out how to wiggle out of being Scott's pretend boyfriend ASAP without letting Derek know he's a lying liar who lies.

They sit down to dinner, because Derek is here now and he did bring food, and... Stiles was right: it is Chinese takeout. In fact, it's Stiles' _favorite_ Chinese takeout, almond chicken and pepper steak and spring rolls, and all Stiles wants to do is vault over the table and propose marriage right then and there. They could have a spring wedding, with a garden reception and ten different flavors of cake.

Derek sits there staring balefully at Stiles and doesn't move to put anything on his plate.

Scott starts jiggling his leg under the table, a classic Scott McCall nervous tell.

The silence is so thick they could cut it with a knife.

 _LOVE ME_ , Stiles thinks aggressively in Derek's direction.

Finally Derek blinks, looks away from Stiles, and asks stiffly, "So how long have you been—" He winces. "— _together_?"

"Five years," Scott says, at the same time that Stiles says, "Thirty minutes."

Oops.

"Really," Derek says.

There's another awkward silence.

Scott lets out a nervous laugh and fumbles to put his arm up around the back of Stiles' chair. "We're not really that good at math," he says, and Stiles fights not to face-palm.

"Clearly," Derek says.

And then—then!—Scott is leaning over one jerky inch at a time, his face screwed up in a determined grimace, and kissing Stiles clumsily on the mouth in an epic violation of every bro code in existence.

Stiles doesn't even _think_ , just yanks his head back and makes a face, because _ew_. Scott. Kissing Scott. No. So much no.

"Um," Derek says, eyes darting between them.

" _Stiles_ ," Scott says, mock-scandalized.

"I take it back! I'm not his boyfriend!" Stiles yells, leaping up, because fuck this, and fuck ten-year plans. He comes around the table to where Derek's gaping up at him. "I'm not his boyfriend, that was a bad idea, but listen, you are the hottest fucking man I have ever seen in my life, and I want to romance the _shit_ out of you."

He's not sure what he expects to happen, but it's definitely not for Derek to stand up—after a split second of hesitation—and kiss him.

"Mmm, yeah," Stiles says, looping his arms around Derek's neck, and goes with it.

"It" being hands-in-hair, tongues-in-mouth, ass-groping, sex-noises kissing. Stiles probably won't ever be able to look Scott in the eye again and it is _so worth it_.

*

"I think, for our second date, we should not bring Scott," Stiles decides later, when they're lying on the couch after the most intense, toe-curling make-out of Stiles' life.

"Agreed," Derek says, and kisses Stiles' nose.


End file.
